Andromeda
by misanthropicteacup
Summary: There are three things Shepard is sure of: death, taxes, and the galaxy's ability to get into trouble when she'd to busy being dead. Post-ME3, lots of astronomy jargon and technobabble, eventual Shenko.
1. Prologue

**Rated for mostly for language.**

**Andromeda**

**Prologue**

The first time she'd died, it sucked balls. Being spaced was not a fun way to go and it was made even worse because part of growing up on a space ship meant sitting through _KNOWLEDGE IS POWER: THE DANGERS OF SPACE TRAVEL_ vid a billion times since she started primary school. Then in basic training they were forced to watch the effects of being spaced in order to scare them all into triple checking their suits and CO2 lines. Inevitably, in Zero G training, there was some bafoon who forgot to check his shit and got quarter-decked and forced the entire group to endure another viewing of the effects of spacing. So for three agonizingly long minutes, Shepard had fought desperately to get her hands on the leak in her CO2 line while the gruesome images of vids ran through her mind. She had to force herself to breath the little oxygen that remained, because holding her breath in a vacuum would bust her lungs. And then the pain had been too bad and she'd spent the last half minute of her life staring out into the empty blackness of space, helpless. And that was how she'd died.

When she'd woken up in the Cerberus lab, the sound of muffled gunfire and Miranda Lawson's grating voice telling her to get up off her ass, Shepard could only think one thing:

Oh for fuck's sake.

And just like that she was up and at em. Because being dead for two years was clearly no excuse to sit out a firefight. Not that it had felt like two years, more like two minutes. She'd spent a good five hours thinking that Cerberus had been the ones to swoop in and save her before she'd died. But that notion was quickly crushed beneath Miranda's impractical high heeled boot. And who the fuck wore heels in combat? Shepard didn't actually think that level of stupid existed outside of the holo vids. But then she met Miranda and Shepard accepted the fact that if there was one person in the entire galaxy that could actually get away with wearing heeled boots in combat: it was Miranda super bitch Lawson.

Shepard was about to die for the second time, and that too, would suck. The lesson of this story, Shepard decided as she stared at the glowing blue metal rungs that were about to kill her, was that dying just fucking sucked.

Shepard took a deep breath, her last, she realized with morbid humor. In those last few moments before she did the heroic thing and offed her self (she supposed _sacrificed_ was the more polite term), she tried to recall all of the faces of the people she loved. Which amounted to everyone who had ever served on the Normandy. Except Jenkins. Fuck that kid, Shepard had only pretended to be sympathetic about him getting himself killed. Over-eager always got a person over-dead. Ok, she'd been a little bummed that he had died on her first mission abroad the Normandy. But he was an idiot, and Shepard had never done well with that breed.

So she thought of everyone's face and grudgingly, even Jenkins was included. But she saved Kaiden's face for last. Because it would always be Kaiden. Even though saving him on Virmire was tactically the right choice, she'd already been running back to get him when she'd realized the tactical benefits. It wasn't some love at first sight thing with Kaiden. It was the slow build up from all their serious late night conversations, their witty banter on missions, how much she enjoyed flustering him, and eventually all the nights they'd spent in bed just wrapped in each other's arms. Cause yeah, deep down beneath all the sarcasm, badass N7 skills, _superb_ dancing ability, and general kickassness-Shepard actually had a kind heart. Of course she told people it was wrapped in barbwire and rigged to blow and put them in the center of a super massive black hole of hurt if anyone but Liara tried to point it out.

But considering she was forfeiting her life for the rest of the galaxy, she guessed people might have figured out her secret. She choked out a small laugh at that and knew that, under different circumstances, Kaiden would have also found that funny. Ok, maybe not. Ever since she'd died, he had lost the ability to joke about death with her. It physically hurt her to think about how much this was going to break him. It was selfish of her to work so hard to get him back after the Collectors. Even worse was the fact that she would do it again. He was the love of her life, or something equally as cliche and sappy. She'd never needed anyone before Kaiden came into her life. But somehow he'd wound himself so tightly around her heart that he'd managed to permanently fuze himself to it. She hadn't even realized it until they were on Horizon and he'd nearly ripped it straight out of her chest with his word. _His words_. She was Commander Fucking Shepard: Savior of the Citadel, Destroyer of Collectors, Scourge of the Reapers. She'd been punched, kicked, shot, blown up, stabbed, sat on by a krogan (long story), survived the threshermaw attacked that wiped out her entire platoon of marines, and had been spaced. And Kaiden's _words_ had been more painful than all of that. She'd spent a solid week after Horizon trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with her. And then it occurred to her: love. That was what was wrong with her.

But she wouldn't trade that for anything. Not even a few more moment to live. Because her relationship was comprised of a thousand little moments, a thousand little moments that made her chest constrict painfully as she stared into the blue glow that would be her demise. She loved him more than she'd ever thought possible and he knew it. And that was what she needed to grab onto those rungs, to endure the pain of being disintegrated. And that was how she'd died.

When she woke up again, this time in what felt like an ocean of jelly, with the sound of alarms blaring and the sudden rush of fucking freezing air as the jelly was flushed away, Shepard had only one thought:

Oh for fuck's sake.


	2. Talking to Herself

The jelly was gone and Shepard sucked in one chest aching breath of air. Everything burned: her lungs, her skin, her eyeballs, even her toenails. The world was shaking. No, she was shaking. Convulsing, actually. '_Pull your shit together, Shepard_' She told herself internally. And she liked to think that by sheer force of will alone, she'd caused her seizure to stop.

"You're system is still integrating with the environment, you will be operational shortly." Shepard frowned deeply and curled in on herself. She was confused because she didn't remember speaking, but that had sounded very similar to her own voice.

Shepard remembered her clone on the Citadel. Oh for fuck's sake was again the first thing that came to mind. Because that was just what she needed: to be rescued by her stupid apparently-not-dead clone. That was just great.

As the minutes ticked by, Shepard became more and more aware of herself and her surroundings. She was in the fetal position, eyes shut, on what felt like a metal slab. She was also naked which rendered her both vulnerable and cold. Just when she developed the presence of mind to start thinking about how she was going to escape from whatever this place was, there was an uncomfortably familiar, deep, reverberating thrumming in her head and her voice spoke up again.

"Escape is unnecessary and futile. You're purpose will be made clear shortly."

Her purpose would be made clear shortly? Shepard didn't know whether to seethe or to sigh. She settled for seething, because anger had always been her go-to emotion. It made things easier.

"Your anger is also unnecessary. It would be more efficient to wait until you have a viable source to direct it towards." Now Shepard settled for sighing. Fuck it. Fuck it all.

Shepard shakily pushed herself up, swinging her legs over the side of slab. She was dismayed that when she opened her eyes and everything was blurry. Rubbing them helped a little and she focused on clearing them, but a small part of her wondered if it was permanent. Because if Shepard remembered correctly, and it was kind of hard to forget, she had been disintegrated. And how the hell someone had managed to piece her together again after that, Shepard couldn't even begin to guess.

"The damage to your eyesight is not permanent. Your occipital lobe is performing well within the normal range."

This whole mind reading thing was getting annoying. Finally, Shepard opened her eyes and was able to see straight, she looked up to find her clone but found the room she was in empty. Which Shepard supposed was par for course, considering she'd been alone the last time she'd woken up after dying. But this was nothing like the sterile high tech Cerberus lab that she was expecting. In fact, she wouldn't even call it a lab. It was a dimly lit cavernous room. Although even calling it a room was stretch. For a minute, Shepard couldn't place what it reminded her of. The memory surfaced slowly. This wasn't like the Cerberus lab, it was more like the Collectors' ship.

And with that realization, Shepard thought now would be a good time to get the hell out. Naked or not, she was not about to sit around and wait to be dissected by the collectors she thought she'd killed off.

"It would be counterproductive to dissect you, considering I just created you."

"Where are you?" Shepard barked fiercely, dismayed that her voice sounded and felt like she'd just deep throated a chainsaw. Her muscles tensed painfully in preparation for a fight.

"You are requesting a visual representation of me so that you may have a false conceptual understanding of my location." Shepard inhaled slowly and tried to remain calm.

"Sure. Let's go with that." She said as she exhaled just as slowly. This was as frustrating as talking to EDI had been at the beginning.

Not that Shepard had anything against AIs. She was, perhaps, their greatest supporter. It was why she'd chosen to control the Reapers instead of destroying all synthetic life. Or turning everyone into an amalgamation of synthetic and organic. She didn't think she'd been qualified to force that on everyone. Shepard was drawn away from her thoughts by an appearance of wavering blue light. Slowly, it took shape. In fact, it took her shape. And again, Shepard had only one thought which she voiced this time.

"Oh for fuck's sake."

Because there, shimmering in front of her, was a hologram of Shepard herself in her N7 armor. Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose as she came to terms with a reoccurring theme in her life: she had no fucking clue what was going on. Ever. She was a master of making people believe she had her shit together; that she was The Fearless Leader who knew exactly what to do and when to do it. But the truth was that half the time she was just making shit up as she went along. Which was probably why so many of her missions resulted in explosions.

"I do not understand that phrase." Not-Shepard said, her face a perfect blank mask. Shepard ignored this.

"Clothes. I need clothes." Shepard ordered as she wrapped her arms around her breasts.

"Interesting. Modesty was not something you possessed prior to this recreation. This is flaw in the design, further analysis is required," Not-Shepard said.

"I assure you, modesty is the last thing on my mind." Shepard said darkly. The thrumming in her head surged for a second before returning to it's dull baseline.

"I see. Not modesty, self-preservation. That fits within your expected reaction parameters." Suddenly a hatch in the wall opened next to Shepard and a metal tray slid out.

Shepard was surprised to see a gun laying next to a set of dark clothes. Not-Shepard was arming her? That seemed kind of stupid, but Shepard would take it. Far be it for her to not exploit someone/thing underestimating her.

"The vandalization or destruction of anything in this room will have no effect on me. I would suggest not shooting too haphazardly, as the tubes above contain several highly flammable gasses that will result in a sizable explosion and extensive damage to your body."

"Noted." Shepard said as she leapt down from the ledge and nearly collapsed on the floor. She cursed and thankfully caught herself on the edge of slab. The muscles in her legs felt like the time she'd thought doing a hundred dead lifts and squats was a good idea. The day after that was when she accepted that attempting to match Vega in the gym was actually a bad idea. Even her arm muscles were quivering from holding up her weight.

"Your system is not fully online yet and your muscles have never been used before, it will take time to gain full function of them."

"Great. Thanks." Shepard shot back and took a deep breath and exhaled in forcefully as she shakily lifted her body up with her arms until she got her feet under her. "Come on Shepard, pull it together," She muttered darkly to herself. She was Commander Shepard-she would not collapse on the floor!

"I do not understand how being Commander Shepard prevents you from falling on the floor."

The desire to flip Not-Shepard off was so fierce her arm began to shake even more. After a minute of standing, she was gradually able to support more and more of her weight with her legs. Eventually, she felt steady enough to reach for the clothes. She grimaced when she discovered the "clothes" consisted of slightly iridescent black leggings and an equally tight fitting long sleeve shirt. Great. Now she was dressing like Lawson. The saving grace was the fact that the boots did not have high heels. She would have gladly shot at the pipes if she had been forced to wear heels.

"What is this stuff?" She asked as slipped on the leggings. Initially the leggings had seemed too fashionable to be useful but when she slid them on she realized her initial assumption might be wrong. She finished putting on a sports bra and shirt made from similar fabric. Maybe fabric wasn't the right word.

"The material is comprised of several thousand layers of pico-tubing weaved in hexagonal segments. Nano-circuitry is evenly dispersed throughout the material so that it connects to and responds to your system's neurological commands and can provide both flexibility and change in textures. It can not be ripped, burned, or penetrated. The nano-circuitry also prevents it from interfering with your shields. Should your shields fail and you get shot, the material will disperse the force."

Shepard looked down at her clothes. Ok. She could admit that was fucking cool. Maybe she could ignore the fact that she was rocking a Lawson special if it rendered her bullet and phasic round proof.

"A bullet or phasic round will not penetrate the suit, but the dispersal of force would result in your bones shattering in a much wider radius." So much for being cool.

"So basically I'd be better off getting shot through than having this thing prevent it?" Shepard asked just to clarify what she had inferred.

"That depends on the location of the wound, type of round used, what you consider an acceptable loss of limbs-"

"Ok. Yeah, thanks. I got it." Shepard waved her hand at Not-Shepard. She tested the flexibility of the material and her ability to use her muscles again. The more she flexed the more she noticed subtle differences. All her muscles were responding but there was something off about them. She couldn't exactly put it into words but it just didn't feel like how she remembered her body feeling. It was foreign but still familiar.

"You adapt to this body shortly." Not-Shepard answered her thoughts. That was really starting to piss her off. As soon as she had the gun in her hand, Shepard felt more in control.

"Who are you?" Shepard asked as she rounded on the holo of herself.

She had experience talking to a VI of herself. That had been hilarious. She'd picked it up on the Citadel while tracking down Thane's son. She'd spent hours with Joker and Garrus getting it to say the most ridiculous things. But this, this Not-Shepard, was not even remotely funny. There was something eery about Not-Shepard. Maybe it was just the fact that Shepard had never come face to face with an AI that looked like her before. But it was also how awfully familiar talking to Not-Shepard felt, or rather just talking to a holo of an AI.

"I am Shepard." Of course.

"Great. Me too. What are you?" Shepard rephrased, long since use to synthetics inability to make conversational leaps.

"I am Shepard. I am the Catalyst." It's words made Shepard's blood freeze.

"What?" was all she could muster.

"When you sacrificed yourself to take control of the Reapers, I was created. Who you were, your thoughts and your actions, guide me. They give me reason, direction. Just as you gave direction to the ones that followed you, the ones that helped you achieve your purpose. Your purpose became my purpose. I rebuilt what the many had lost and created a future with limitless possibilities."

At this point, Shepard started to think that maybe she had fucked up a little bit. Because an all powerful AI Catalyst, even if it did look like her, that had complete control of the Reapers was starting to sound uncomfortably familiar. She supposed that this was what she had knowingly sacrificed her life for, but the idea of taking control of the Reapers seemed so much more benign when she hadn't been face to face with it. She supposed that the Leviathan had made the same mistake.

"My purpose is not the same as the last Catalyst, though your concern is justified by your past experiences."

"Then what is your purpose?" Shepard's mouth felt dry. She didn't even know where to begin to fix this.

"To protect and sustain, I am the guardian of the many." Just fucking great. Because that was in no way the identical purpose that the last Catalyst had. '_Sarcasm_' Shepard thought bitterly, so that the mind reading Not-Shepard wouldn't interpret it as anything sincere.

"Thank you for your concern, but I was created in your likeness. I am well aware of sarcasm." Shepard snorted at that. Well, that figures.

"My purpose is the same as yours: to protect the free will of this galaxy. To allow its inhabitance the choice and the freedom to live and die however they wish." Finally, Not-Shepard's face moved into an almost disapproving look. "You do yourself a disservice to think your purpose was unclear and your sacrifice meaningless."

Shepard had just been scolded by an all-powerful AI version of herself. Now that was one for her collection of Weird Shepard Moments. It had become a large collection. It included the time she'd killed a reaper with a thresher maw and also the time she'd consumed fermented varren piss in place of alcohol. Unsurprisingly, both of those things happened on Tuchunka.

"So you basically do nothing then?" Shepard said tactlessly.

"I repair and power the Mass Relays, maintain the Citadel, and monitor for galactic threats." Not-Shepard listed automatically.

"Right. So what happened to all the Reapers?" Shepard asked still skeptical but not as on edge as she had been when Not-Shepard first copped to being the Catalyst.

Shepard...trusted Not-Shepard's purpose. Which was fucking weird because as Not-Shepard had said, there was nothing her past experience that justified this trust. But for some reason, she could tell that Not-Shepard had a strict set of parameters that guided her purpose along with an immense list of failsafes and fact checking programs. Strangely, if Shepard focused on it, she somehow knew that those parameters would be accessible in her brain. As if she could just call them up into existence. She was aware that she shouldn't be able to do that, that in no way had she ever been able to do that before dying for a second time. But it also felt natural, just like checking her omitool to search for something on the extranet. That was odd in and of itself. In an equally odd and seamless way, she was able to have in-depth thoughts about her concern with this new ability while devoting what felt like her full attention to what Not-Shepard was explaining.

"The ground units that were repurposed from existing races were decommissioned, because you classified them as "abominations". This classification matched the census data I gathered from the extranet. Once enough opinions had been gathered to inform my decision, the decommissioning began." Without having to ask Shepard suddenly had access to all the census data. She could see that Not-Shepard had full access to the extranet and all devices that connected to it. Which Shepard thought was a huge invasion of privacy. Before she could even finish that thought, she almost simultaneously was granted access to Not-Shepard's list of parameters for using said information and the acceptable levels in which Not-Shepard was allowed to invade the public's privacy. Also, Not-Shepard's Privacy Policy came up almost like an after thought.

Again, with all this information suddenly in Shepard's head, she was somehow able to focus on what Not-Shepard was saying.

"However, in order to be able to protect the galaxy should a threat arise, I have maintained the Leviathan Reapers and they are currently stored in dark space around this galaxy." More information popped up in Shepard's head and it finally felt like too much.

"Stop. What's with all this stuff in my head?" Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose. She tried to will away the ridiculous amount of data that was filling her head and much to her surprise, it worked. It was gone. She was aware that the data existed and her opinions she'd made about it were still there, but she no longer had access to it. The numbers, facts, figures, and programing language were all gone. The headache that had started to form almost completely, and just as quickly, receded.

"You will get better at filtering information and prioritizing what to store and what to discard in time. I apologize for giving you so much data at once, I had miscalculated the limitations of your partially organic brain."

Her partially organic brain seemed to stop working at that moment and focus on the PARTIALLY ORGANIC part.

"What the fuck? What do you _mean_ partially organic?!" Of course as soon as Shepard said that she knew what it meant. But knowing what that implied and accepting it were two very different things.

"You are comprised of both synthetic and organic pieces. A synthesis similar to the third option you were given at the time of your sacrifice."

"So if I had gone with that option, this is what everyone would be capable of?"

"Unknown. I created you from nothing, the synthesis option would have been combing components to preexisting life. The exact outcome of that option is unknowable. There are simulations that I can run to determine the most likely turn of events, but that is not something that would provide any benefit to my purpose. So it is deemed unnecessary.

Shepard realized that was a major difference between her and Not-Shepard. Unnecessary curiosity was sorta Shepard's thing. She would always stay and ask questions, delve deeper into the backs story of whatever mission she was on. It broke up the monotony of pointing and shooting and more times then not that "unnecessary" information wound up influencing her actions later on.

"I concede to your point in this particular situation. I will run simulations and report my findings at a later date."

"Is this mind reading thing something that I have to look forward to for the rest of my life?" Shepard asked with a little bit of snark. False. There was a lot of snark in that.

"No. But you seem to have not yet developed the ability to cease transmitting data to me. This is why you are developing physical symptoms like your headache." Shepard seriously doubted that was the only reason she was getting a headache. "Keeping our connection open for long periods of time will, if not closed, render you brain dead."

Great. Because death by mind reading from a super powered AI version of herself sounded like it would suck just as bad as death by space or death by sacrificial disintegration.

"So how do I shut it off?"

"By shutting down the open connection." Answered Not-Shepard helpfully.

Shepard didn't bother to ask for clarification. Because she knew she wouldn't get it. Instead, she tried to repeat what she had done earlier to get rid of the surplus of information. It didn't work. She could still feel that weird reverberating humming in her head. It sounded familiar, but she couldn't place where she'd heard it before. A small knot of dread began to form in her stomach as a thought occurred. She studiously ignored it.

"Why did you bring me back?" She asked, even though that was not the question on her mind.

"Would you like me to answer that question or the higher priority one you did not vocalize?" Oh, good old Not-Shepard. Way to be not creepy.

"Sarcasm." Not-Shepard informed Shepard.

Annoyance, borderline anger, rushed through Shepard. She wanted Not-Shepard out of her head. Right. Now. Shepard didn't care what it would take, she was kicking it out the door. Instantly, it seemed natural to just shut down the connection. Maybe anger really was her super power. When she cut the connection, that deep humming stopped. Her brain was eerily quiet.

"You have successfully stopped transmitting data to me. You can reestablish that connection at any time, as can I." That was just another item on a long list of concerning things, Shepard decided. Also, a lower priority one.

"Answer the question I asked." Shepard responded tiredly. She felt drained. Maybe leaving that connection open for so long had a greater effect on her than she realized. It was an odd feeling, different from feeling physically tired. It seemed isolated to her brain and mental functions. Again, a lower priority item of concern. Another lower priority item of concern was the fact that she actually had a prioritized list running in her head.

"I brought you back to assist in fulfilling my purpose. You were chosen because of our shared purpose and your track record of success in taking out galactic threats." Shepard took a moment to sigh. She crossed her arms and even hung her head for a minute.

Of course there was a galactic threat. This galaxy had a bad habit of getting it self into trouble. And it's inhabitance had an equally bad habit of thinking that Shepard was the only person who could save it. Granted, she'd pulled off the impossible more than a couple of times. But there were trillions of space fairing life forms in the Milky Way, Shepard had a hard time believing there wasn't at least one other person who could get shit done. Instantly, a part of Shepard's brain (which she had come to terms with the fact that it was actually a program) started running statistics on the likelihood of that other person existing. In a matter of seconds, Shepard had a number. Ha! It was statistically probable that there was another person out their who could save the galaxy. She ignored the other statistic that said it highly improbable that said person would have actually succeeded in saving the galaxy.

"Doesn't free will mean that they have the right to blow themselves up? Not that I'm advocating that, considering I just went through the trouble of saving their asses." Shepard asked. She would really appreciate it if the galaxy could keep itself out of trouble for a little bit. Just a couple of centuries would be nice. Then it can all go to shit again and it wouldn't be on Shepard.

"Yes. It allows the inhabitance of this galaxy to do as they wish. This includes but is not limited to: war, genocide, peace, expansion, and an extensive but finite number of other things."

"So then you can't intervene. If they are wrecking shit, then you have to let them wreck shit and deal with the fallout." Bottom line: no longer Shepard's problem. At least that was what she was trying to convince herself of.

"I can not intervene if the inhabitance of _this_ galaxy, as you put it, decide to wreck shit. My purpose is to protect their right to do so." Not-Shepard said and this time Shepard started to catch on. "However, the threat is not from _this_ galaxy."

That sentence hung in the air for a minute, Shepard let the weight of it's meaning sink in. There had never been contact from outside their own galaxy. Of course, it was theorized that sentient life existed in some form throughout most galaxies, but the prospect of jumping galaxies was practically science fiction. The entire Milky Way was 100,000 light years across. With just FTL and no Mass Relays, it would take about 5 Galactic Standard Years to cross. With Mass Relays, a complete tour of the Milky Way could be done in about two weeks at a reasonable pace. It could be done in one week by the Normandy if you gave Joker one of the illegal stim drinks and a bag of eye-wateringly spicy chips.

The nearest galaxy to the Milky Way, was 2.5 megalight years away. Which equated to roughly 2 and a half million light years. The program in Shepard's brain told her she was a couple thousand years off in her calculation, but she ignored it again. As someone who spent her entire life in space, who's career was based on space travel, the idea of contact with another galaxy was both thrilling and horrifying.

Because among the many vids Shepard had to sit through as a child _The History of the First Contact Wars_ (or as snotty nosed children such as herself nicked named it: _Don't Fuck with the Turians Because They have More Advanced and Bigger Guns) _was the least boring of them. And the fact was: the Mass Relays were created by the Reapers who were technologically so far advanced than anyone else in this galaxy, both past and present, it wasn't even funny. If there was something able to bridge the gap between galaxies and it decided to not play nice, well the Milky Way was just fucked. Game over. No extended cut.

"How?" Shepard asked in awe.

"Unknown. I am currently the only one in this galaxy aware of their presence and even then it is only because they were not initially aware of mine."

"But they are now?" That was highly concerning.

"Yes, but they do not know what I am. Just as I do not know what they are. Only where they come from." Suddenly the dimly lit room was filled with stars. It was like standing in the middle of the galactic map on the Normandy, only even more beautiful.

"This is the galaxy we reside in, what the human's refer to as the Milky Way." The map zoomed out to encompass the Local Group of galaxies. Then it zoomed in on the closest galaxy to the Milky Way.

"Andromeda," Shepard said, silently marveling at the expansive brightly lit spiral galaxy.

"Correct. This is the Andromeda Galaxy, a name adopted from human mythology and widely accepted amongst our galaxy as its proper name. This is where the threat originated from."

"How do you know that?" Shepard asked and went to lean against the metal slab. She may have gain more control of her muscles, but they still were not completely back to normal.

"After they accidentally tried to access my system and consequently revealed themselves to me, I began tracking their movements. I ran several hundred threat analysis programs in order to determine my best approach."

"And having your Reaper army blow them back to Andromeda wasn't an option?"

"No. They are too small in number, which is why I have concluded that they are an infiltration and reconnaissance team. Through analysis of their movements and location, I tracked down what I believe to be their first point of contact with our galaxy." The map zoomed over to the edge of the Minos Wasteland.

"An Alliance ship was attacked and boarded here. It was assumed to be Reaper related, but I have confirmed that Reapers were not responsible. The electromagnetic pulse used to disable the ship is what suggests this was one of the Andromedan's early points of contact." Not-Shepard opened the connection in Shepard's brain and promptly shared a terabyte of data that informed this conclusion.

"So the electromagnetic pulse, if we can even really call it that," Shepard said as she scanned through the analysis of the event. "is way more advanced than anything we have in this entire galaxy." Shepard concluded with a frown. "Whatever weapon caused this is centuries ahead of what anyone here is even close to developing."

Well that added another tally to the We Are Totally Boned score card.

"It shares similarities with Reaper technology, but I am concerned that it is even more advanced than what exists in our arsenal. The level of control exerted to knock out a frigate like this one without extensive damage to either the computers or the hull is not something our weapons are capable of."

There goes another tally. It was not comforting to know that the formally evil, technologically superior, race of partially organic robots sworn to protect the galaxy was apparently out gunned. And worse, it was concerned about it. The Reapers were starting to seem like no big deal at this point.

"So what the hell do you think I can do about it?" Shepard quickly shut down the connection between the two of them again. She didn't want her feelings being analyzed by Not-Shepard.

Because that honestly scared Shepard. The Reapers and the prospect of total annihilation had been terrifying and Shepard had never been embarrassed about admitting that. But it was what a person did when they were terrified that counted. Bravery was not the absence of fear, it was the refusal to let fear stop you. Shepard had figured that out on Akuze. But she'd been forced to adopt the image of The Fearless Leader at the end of her first life when she'd started to see that fear creeping into her crew's eyes. She understood fear paralyzed most people, but it just made her move faster. Her instincts were always to fight rather than take flight. With her luck and penchant for getting killed, maybe it was caused by brain damage.

That was a lovely thought.


End file.
